<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>I just learned your face (but it is bound to change) by VonVarleys</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29005683">I just learned your face (but it is bound to change)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/VonVarleys/pseuds/VonVarleys'>VonVarleys</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aging, Almyra (Fire Emblem), Canon-Typical Violence, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Second Person, Politics, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Racism, Vomiting, War, injuries, no beta we die like Glenn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:54:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29005683</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/VonVarleys/pseuds/VonVarleys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lorenz Hellman Gloucester makes a bad first impression. He spends decades correcting it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lorenz Hellman Gloucester &amp; Claude von Riegan, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is from Claude's POV, in second person. While the chapters are pre timeskip and post timeskip, Claude's experience of the timeskip is pretty different from how it's framed in the game around Byleth's POV. </p>
<p>I tagged the relationship as both &amp; and / because honestly it could be read either way here.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first time you see him, you are helping a footman carry a trunk with everything in Fódlan that you can call yours up a flight of stairs. You are walking backwards, inching your way up, praying you don’t slip and drop the trunk, when a tall boy in the same uniform as you arrives at the bottom of the stairs and heaves a loud sigh. “It appears as though there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> in our way,” he says to the two manservants accompanying him. He sighs again</span>
  <em>
    <span>. “</span>
  </em>
  <span>Ah well, I have patience.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Clearly not enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you think to yourself as you come to the top of the staircase. The footman follows, guiding you around the corner into the hallway, and you hear the group behind you start on the stairs. You hope he won’t be in your house, though of course, pompous nobles are as common in the Alliance as anywhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The incident quickly fades from your mind as you enter a spare room with a view of a cobblestone courtyard and a low stone building. You and the footman set down the trunk, and you survey the room you’ll call your own for the next year. It’s a nice enough room, but it’s what it represents that makes your heartbeat quicken.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The next time you see him is sooner than you’d like. It turns out his room is next to yours. You’re leaving your room to take a stroll around the grounds before you have to meet with the other house leaders to go over school policy, when you find him standing in his doorway, instructing the servants as they unpack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good day,” he says, turning as you pass by. He looks you up and down with intense violet eyes. “So you are Duke Riegan’s grandson, I presume.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is the family resemblance really that strong?” You smile lightly. “My name’s Claude. Nice to meet you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it isn’t,” he says. You’re about to make some joke brushing it off when he continues. “It’s your cape. You’re clearly our house leader, a duty that could only fall to the grandson of our sovereign duke.” He bows stiffly. “I am Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. I look forward to making your acquaintance.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lorenz, huh?” You stretch back, studying him. His last name is very familiar to you, but you pretend you didn’t notice. He has an oddly angular haircut and a red rose pinned to his lapel. “Looks like we’re in the same house, so I’ll be seeing you around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that all you have to say?” Lorenz’s tone is sharply disapproving; it seems that while you were observing him, he was doing the same to you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You force out a chuckle. “I’m actually on my way to a meeting for house leaders. I’ll see you later, Lorenz.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Before you and the other house leaders are going to head out for joint training exercises (“It’s only right--after all, we should all make friends with each other,” Dimitri had said), each house will have a shared dinner in the dining hall, with food chosen to represent their region of Fódlan. Your job is to introduce yourself and make sure that everyone there gets along, which should be easy enough. You’re used to keeping the peace at family dinners. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You don’t know enough about Lorenz yet to be concerned after what was likely just a bad first impression, and yet you should have been. You listen as he criticizes Leonie for eating with her elbows on the table, and while you privately agree that she was within her rights to snap back at him, you have to ask them both to settle down and just enjoy the Derdriu pheasant. You see the nervous way Ignatz keeps glancing at Raphael, then at Lorenz, then back at Raphael, as if waiting for something to go wrong. Eventually you have to jump in and ask Ignatz to please pass the salt, just so that he looks at your end of the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are three commoners in our house; I hear neither of the others has quite so many,” he’s telling Hilda. Hilda’s another one you have to keep a close eye on; her family name is enough to convince you of that. “A fitting display of the magnanimity of the Alliance’s nobles, to agree to give recommendations.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d say everyone’s here on their own merit,” you jump in before Leonie can say anything. “It’s not mere generosity, we’ve all had to prove ourselves one way or another to be accepted at Garreg Mach. Speaking of which, Lorenz, what’s your specialty? Mine’s the bow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m suitably experienced at riding, the lance, and the magical arts,” said Lorenz. “I attended the Fhirdiad School of Sorcery, I’ll have you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’ve never heard of it. You wonder if you should have. “Ooh, quite impressive. And how about you, Marianne?” You move the conversation along, away from yourself and Lorenz, involve as many of the others as you can, give them space to show off their credentials. You have to get to know all of them, who can be relied on, who needs to be teased along, who might throw a wrench in your plans. You are sitting with the future of the Alliance. You are sitting in a nest of vipers. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>You throw yourself into your studies with confidence. You thought you knew just about everything there was to know about archery. You thought you were more than alright at fencing. You thought you were good with horses and wyverns. You thought leadership was your greatest strength, something that came naturally to you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You were wrong. You’re straining, reaching, pushing yourself as far as you can go. Your arms ache in different places and you wake up sore all over. Instead of lying awake fearful in bed, you spend your nights at your desk pouring over strategy textbooks and military histories. You can’t get the scent of the wyvern stables and sweat out of your uniform. Without your morning meditation, without your letters from your parents and brothers (which you always burn after reading), without your vision of the future that you absolutely must achieve, you would be falling apart. And yet you have to keep up appearances, forge bonds with the other Golden Deer. You have to be strong for all of them, give them fond memories of you at school, make them love you. And when you laugh with Hilda (despite knowing exactly what the Gonerils do to people like you), when you train with Leonie and Raphael, when you catch Lysithea up late in the library, when you talk to Ignatz and Marianne in the cathedral, you feel almost as if you are watching yourself through their eyes. You’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to look in the mirror and know for certain that the face you see is your own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your one relief is that everyone else seems like they’re close to their breaking points too. You see the sweat drip to the floor of the training grounds, the swallowed sobs as the professor says “one more try” for the tenth time, dark circles appear under your classmates’ eyes, their hair become steadily more thrown-together. It gives you some relief to know that you aren’t the only one here who’s fighting like hell. Garreg Mach seems almost designed to break its students, so that they can be rebuilt as stronger, more capable versions of themselves. Even Lorenz is struggling to maintain his poise, you note with some satisfaction. He’s faring better than some, but he isn’t immune to the physical and mental strain of the impossible demands of the Officers’ Academy. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>It’s in the cathedral that he corners you. “You. Just what are you up to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a sense, you’re relieved. He’s dispensing with the niceties he employs in public, dropping the facade of noble politeness. However, you can’t afford to do the same. “Well, if it isn’t Lorenz.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sneers. “Yes, it is; try not to sound so affronted.” Yikes. Did your displeasure show through regardless? “And you’re just whimsically wandering the monastery grounds again, I suppose?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You reign yourself in and give him a friendly smile. “Oh naturally. After all, I really do adore the Garreg Mach Monastery.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I think not. That impish look on your face does not suggest innocence. You are up to something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There really is no winning with Lorenz. You keep your tone light and your smile easy. “Lorenz, control yourself. Let’s not start throwing around baseless accusations. It’s not proper.” You look around you for a distraction. “This monastery is packed with a thousand years of history. Well, five years shy of a thousand, if we’re going for accuracy. Those pillars, these walls, even the floor… They’ve all seen more than we can possibly imagine. Our distant ancestors may have walked these very halls. Doesn’t that excite you?” There we go. Bring Lorenz around to his favorite topic: nobility. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lorenz refuses the bait. “Perhaps, if this were a discussion about art. But I’m afraid walls and floors are not sufficiently interesting to hold my attention, nor will they suffice to distract me from what is plainly suspicious about you.” Cold terror twists in your throat. “House Riegan was on the brink of collapse until they suddenly revealed you as their legitimate heir. That was only a year ago. Where were you before then? Are you even a true heir to House Riegan?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His last question brings you back to steadier ground, so you choose to focus on that one for now. “If I weren’t truly of House Riegan descent, how do you imagine I acquired my Crest?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A Crest is insufficient,” Lorenz snaps. “I am referring to your noble disposition--or lack thereof!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A Crest is insufficient… What on earth could he mean by that? Regardless, it’s your turn to put Lorenz on the defensive. “Well, that’s what I came here to hone, after all. I can only hope that you will assent to instruct me in the art of snobbery, professor Lorenz!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lorenz rolls his eyes. “I do not think you grasp the significance of the responsibility you bear. Do you even know what it means to lead the Leicester Alliance? I take no pleasure in saying this, but much of the chaos in our ranks right now is due to the failings of House Riegan’s leadership. I intend to set things right. And once I expose you for the fraud you are and reclaim my rightful place, that is precisely what I will do.” Lorenz turns and again you feel the grip of fear. “To be blunt...it would have been better had you never shown your face here.” With that, Lorenz walks out of the cathedral. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That guy, he just can’t be reasoned with,” you mutter. You’ll have to do something about him; he’s an even bigger threat to your cover than Hilda. Your mind circles around to what he said about the Alliance’s leadership. You know so little! It’s all so frustrating: the world is so vast and so terribly complex. You could reshape it with your own two hands if you could just understand it a little better. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>This is what you know about Count Gloucester: he is powerful. He is an expert at swaying opinion during roundtable conferences. He and your grandfather often butt heads. He is ambitious. He is an excellent sorcerer. He studied at Garreg Mach. And he may have had some involvement in your uncle Godfrey’s death. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>You stay up late in the library, pouring over church records. The librarian is so friendly, he brings you files and helps you interpret some of the more arcane religious terminology. You study maps of impossible cities and illustrations of strange beasts, looking for a sign, for a clue. The books in Fódlan are all hand written, unlike at home where they’re mostly woodcuts. This country frustrates you, but it captures you, more than a complex troop formation, more than battle strategy. There’s something strange, something deeply wrong about this place, and you must be the one to unravel it. The Archbishop, the professor, the Hero’s Relics, Crests: all of it is connected, and all just beyond your grasp. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Judith von Daphnel comes to visit. Your grandfather’s illness has grown serious, and he is unable to participate in the Roundtable Conference. As his heir, it’s your duty to fill in for him. You travel back to Derdriu far sooner than you expected, but only for the week. Judith gives you the rundown on what to expect: Count Gloucester wants Margrave Edmund to pay more for Alliance military expenses, and Duke Goneril is, as always, requesting more men. House Ordelia is waffling on the issue of being resubsumed into House Gloucester. Margrave Edmund disapproves of House Riegan’s willingness to let Srengi merchants dock at Derdriu. Trade between the territories of Gloucester and Riegan has become risky and the merchants’ guild has been petitioning House Riegan to do something about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You sit between Margrave Edmund and Baron Ordelia and across the table from Count Gloucester. You are by far the youngest person there, even Holst Goneril is a good ten years your senior. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Almyrans could launch an attack tomorrow,” Holst is saying. “The aid I’ve gotten from Daphnel and Edmund is an excellent start, but I need your assistance too, Count Gloucester.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We simply cannot spare the men, your grace,” Count Gloucester retorts. “The Riegan, Daphnel, and Edmund territories are far more prosperous, and the border with Faerghus has been peaceful for centuries. Ask them to send you soldiers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid that shan’t be possible for me,” says Margrave Edmund, a thin man with icy blue eyes. “Our army is small and often occupied with those Srengi pirates that </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> keeps encouraging.” He stares at you pointedly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The pirates and the merchants are different parties though,” you jump in to defend your house. “The more we trade with Sreng, the more their economy will grow, and nobody will have to resort to piracy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How charitable of you. The point remains that I have given all the aid I can to the eastern border.” Margrave Edmund turns to Judith. “I assume House Daphnel has not been holding back?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judith glares back at him. “Are you accusing me of withholding troops? I’m not being stingy; not everyone’s fortunes are multiplying like yours.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your hands are clasped tightly underneath the table. Every word is a rung of the ladder you must ascend. You dart your gaze between the men and woman around the table, assessing all of them, trying to take everything in. You will hold these moments in your brain for later, to pour over at your leisure. For now, you have to deflect remarks about Sreng, deescalate squabbles as they occur, and try to mention the merchants’ concern. You feel alive, alive and awake and truly yourself for the first time in months. This is what you were born to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the conference, Judith pulls you aside. “Well done, boy,” she says, and pats you on the shoulder. There will be a feast that night, and you’re still riding high on the thrill of being part of the Roundtable. You are exhilarated and exhausted, and every time you blink, you think you can see your future, just within your reach. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>At the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, you emerge victorious. The other houses were strong, but ultimately they fell before Leonie and Ignatz’s archery (not to mention your own), Lysithea and Marianne’s magic, and Raphael and Hilda’s brute strength. Lorenz had been practicing his magic, but right before the mock battle, he surprised you all by arriving with his horse. You had to laugh; the alternative was shouting at him for being so damned fickle. Of course, there was no need to worry. Lorenz did splendidly on horseback, pushing back Hubert, Ferdinand, and even Petra on the Black Eagle side of the field until they were forced to retreat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’re bickering with Ingrid at the feast when Lorenz comes up behind you. “I would like to thank you for your role in our victory,” he says, cooly. “My father will be quite satisfied.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always so concerned with what your father will think, huh,” you remark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lorenz purses his lips. “As one ought to be,” he says, walking away. His tone is inscrutable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See, this is what I mean, Claude!” says Ingrid after he’s gone. “You’re always so careless! You don’t concern yourself with other people’s feelings at all!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You laugh her off, but wonder what she saw that you didn’t. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Shortly after the Roundtable, Lorenz approaches you in the dining hall. You’ve just finished your lunch when he sits down beside you, without a plate or tray in his hands. He’s not here to eat. He’s here to talk to you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Claude,” he says by way of greeting. “Are you aware of the most recent conflict within the Alliance?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello to you too, Lorenz. And you’ll have to be more specific. The Alliance is always bickering over one thing or another.” While a few of the points of contention at the Roundtable Conference were resolved, none of the participants were satisfied. The feast afterwards had been a tense affair, with the various nobles staring daggers at each other across plates of duck stew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Margrave Edmund is raising objections over the assignment of his troops to the eastern defenses.” That would be it. Count Gloucester and Duke Goneril had ultimately gotten their way: more troops were being posted to Fódlan’s locket, and those troops were coming from the Edmund territories. Lorenz, being a Gloucester, would be the first to hear Edmund’s objections. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You stretch. “If you please one noble another will only gripe. No matter what happens, there will always be conflict.” You could say more, about how the Alliance system is flawed at its core, how without a strong centralized leadership, they would never progress beyond internal disputes, but you were hoping to get some training in before your next class. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That is just the kind of lackadaisical attitude that causes more conflict among us than necessary!” Lorenz snaps back. “Now listen to me carefully: House Edmund may not hold much land, but the land they do control is quite rich. They also maintain a thriving port. Their influence is poised to rival even the most powerful players in the Alliance. Yet they claim they cannot spare a fair share of troops? Do you find it acceptable to let such an obviously unreasonable objection stand?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You shake your head. “It’s not as though the threat of Almyra to the east has proven all that threatening of late.” You had taken the Margrave’s side at the Conference. It wasn’t enough to sway the vote, when Gloucester, Goneril, Ordelia, and Daphnel were for the troop assignment, but maybe you have a chance now to get through to Count Gloucester via his son. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Such negligence! What makes you so certain the Almyrans will not attack us tomorrow!?” Alliance nobles always spoke of Almyra the same way. An unpredictable threat, like some kind of wild beast, rather than a nation of rational humans just as capable of thought as themselves. He continues: “If certain dukes hold back their proper share of support, it will only serve to weaken House Goneril’s hold of our eastern flank!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Calm yourself. I am well aware that the financial situation of House Edmund is quite exceptional. However, what you fail to realize is that they are lacking in troops. They’re not lying when they say they don’t have that many to spare. As it were, the Almyrans have been nothing but peaceful since we refortified Fódlan’s locket. And, are you aware that Margrave Edmund paid for the majority of the costs of those repairs?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Lorenz looks taken aback. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You keep going. “In fact, it’s largely thanks to the skilled craftsmen he assembled that the fortress is now so impregnable. I, for one, wouldn’t want to attack a fortress as formidable as that.” This last information is something you pieced together from Hilda’s talk of home and the letters you receive from your father. You almost pity Lorenz, only knowing what his father sees fit to tell him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lorenz gives a dignified nod. “I do see your point. If House Edmund has already made its fair contribution, then that is all we can ask. Very well, I withdraw my objection.” He pauses, then looks straight into your eyes. “But, even the sturdiest fortress needs soldiers to defend it. If we continue to squabble amongst ourselves, it will eventually fall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Lorenz was concerned about that. Why did he tell you this? Isn’t he supposed to detest you? Aren’t you an obstacle to him? If he really did solely care for his title and noble status, then why was he so concerned for the fate of the Alliance as a whole? And yet it felt as if Lorenz had just confided in you something vital. “If someone like him really came to lead the Alliance...” you murmur to yourself. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>You’re being dispatched to Remire soon. One night at dinner, you tease Lysithea about the ghosts you might encounter there, one little joke, and she gets up and walks out of the room. Lorenz takes her side: “You ought to show more concern for the common people of Remire Village. They’re depending upon us and our aid. Only the worst kind of noble would make light of the suffering of the common people.” You apologize to Lysithea later, but Lorenz’s words still burn a hole in your conscience. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>After the calamity at Remire Village, wagons full of knights arrived to take survivors back to the monastery for clothing while the village was rebuilt. One of the wagons was reserved for your class. “Get in, everyone. Look around, make sure we leave nobody behind,” the professor says, their face streaked with grime and ash. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You count classmates. Leonie, Ignatz, Marianne, Lysithea, Raphael, Lorenz, Hilda. “All accounted for,” you tell the professor as they climb into the wagon driver’s seat. Then you don’t speak for a long time. The wyverns and horses follow slowly around them and in the sky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’ve never gotten motion sickness. You’ve ridden in wagons, on horses, on wyverns, on ships, and you’ve never felt as if you might vomit at any moment. You’ve never felt clammy or shaky or faint. But that was before. Before you saw civilians burnt alive in their homes, heard them crying out for you to save them from all directions when you were only one boy. One boy who could only save so many. Before you were forced to kill a village man armed only with a hatchet dulled by cutting wood. Before you saw Tomas, Tomas whom you’d known, Tomas whom you’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusted</span>
  </em>
  <span>, turn into that...thing. He’d been planning this all along, that he’d never really been Tomas at all. If it could happen with Tomas it could happen with anyone; anyone could be an imposter; anyone could be trying to kill you; there is nobody, nobody in all of Fódlan--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop the wagon, right there.” It’s Lorenz. He’s stood up and is calling out to the professor as they drive the wagon</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The professor pulls the wagon to the side of the road and stops the horses. “What’s wrong?” They sound startled, out of sorts. All around the wagon, the students are looking miserably at one another, in huddles and pairs. You notice Hilda with her arms around Marianne and Lysithea, stroking their hair and whispering to them the way you would whisper to a skittish horse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lorenz doesn’t answer. “Claude, come with me,” he says, in his usual commanding tone of voice. You’re too tired to think. Your stomach churning, you obey him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two of you climb out of the wagon, and Lorenz does the unthinkable--he places a hand on your shoulder. He guides you into a thicket. Mutely, you wonder if this is it, he’ll pull out a knife and finish the job Tomas started, the job everyone’s in on; every other person you know in this forsaken country is all together planning to--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There, no one can see us now.” Lorenz backs away. “I’ll go back to the road to wait for you. I can never vomit if anyone’s there, but you’ll feel better once you do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your knees give way and you sink into the brambles and fallen leaves. “I’m not going to throw up, Lorenz,” you say. “I just need a moment to steady myself.” You’re not quite sure you’ve told the truth, but you know this isn’t motion sickness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In that case, I’ll stay here,” says Lorenz. He squats down beside you, his armor clanking, and gives a deep sigh. “That was heinous, the most egregious thing I’ve ever seen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You nod. The words will come later, once you have some distance from it all, once you can pretend it was nothing more than a bad dream. You close your eyes and will yourself not to cry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two of you stay in silence for a moment longer. Eventually you press your hands into the forest floor and come to your feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” you say. “I’m sure the others are worried.” </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>When the night of the ball finally arrives, you feel almost overwhelmed with excitement. Everything leading up to this point has been a flurry of planning, of practicing your dancing with Hilda, of celebrating Marianne’s win at the White Heron Cup, of pestering the dining hall staff about hors d’oeuvres, of teasing the other students about the rumors regarding the Goddess Tower. Now, you tug your cape just askew enough to look spontaneous, cinch your jacket’s waistband, and check to make sure your trousers are properly tucked into your boots. You step out into the hall to wait for Hilda, and as you do, you pass Lorenz on his way to the stairs. He keeps running his hands through his hair, which is slicked down with water, and adjusting the rose on his uniform jacket. There’s something almost charming about his nervousness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looking sharp, Lorenz,” you say to him with a grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you. Waiting for a lady?” he asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh, something like that,” you say. Hilda is a lady, of course, but when he puts it that way, well, ew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish you luck. More luck than I’ve been having, at least.” He looks away bitterly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chin up,” you say. You’re in a generous mood. “Looking like that, I’m sure loads of girls will want a moment of your time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No need for false flattery, Claude,” he says and continues on his way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a good half hour before Hilda finally leaves her room, and by the time you arrive at the great hall, the ball is already in full swing. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>In the forest outside the monastery grounds, you and the rest of the Golden Deer watch the birth of something more than human. Only you have read Jeralt’s diary, only you know what it means. There is something wrong with this place, something deeply and vitally wrong, and yet you stare in wonder and joy with the rest of them.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Is this some sick joke?” you ask, and you mean it. You are begging for it to be a poorly thought out prank by the Black Eagle House leader, for there to be some sort of explanation other than the obvious, the dizzyingly obvious answer that Edelgard really is the Flame Emperor, the one behind Remire, the strange people in the forest, the attack on your training, Flayn’s kidnapping, everything until now. It all fits; how did you fail to see it? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, Gods, let this be a joke</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one is laughing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You fly on your wyvern towards Edelgard, as Lady Rhea and the professor rush along the floor. She isn’t moving. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wake up. Please, please, please let me wake up before I reach her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You don’t, of course. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To think that a descendent of House Hresvelg would dare betray the holy church!” Lady Rhea is shouting, her face contorted with rage. “Professor, kill Edelgard at once. She is a danger to all of Fódlan. Such a rebellious heart cannot be allowed to keep beating.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Please, please stop this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you want to cry out. You don’t understand. Why would Edelgard do this? Why would she throw everything she has away? What does she know that you don’t? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before you can say anything, Hubert appears to warp both of them away. Lady Rhea is screaming her threats into nothing. The sight of her rage makes you collect yourself. You have to think through this logically, or else you’ll be lost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Lady Rhea gathers everyone together to return and plan what to do, you turn to the professor. “I’m not exactly on friendly terms with Edelgard, but I do have a few questions for her. Edelgard said that the Crest Stones represent power. That means she knows how to use them. She almost certainly knows other secrets of Fódlan as well… Once things calm down a bit, there’s a lot more that Rhea needs to tell us.” The professor nods. You continue, holding yourself together as you voice your dread. “I hope there’s still time. I have this strange feeling… that history is being written. That an age of anarchy is upon us. Let’s hope I’m mistaken.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You know you aren’t mistaken. The heir of the Adrestian Empire incurring the wrath of the archbishop will mean conflict between the Church and the Empire. You don’t know which side to root for yet. You know what Edelgard has done is horrific and has almost gotten you killed more times than you can count, but is the Church really any better? There’s so much you still have left to uncover. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>You prepare for battle. House boundaries have faded to almost nothing now. The remaining Black Eagles train with the Blue Lions train with the Golden Deer train with Cyril and the knights. It doesn’t matter anymore. The battles up until now, even at Remire, were hardly more than practice rounds: your only enemies back then were bandits, small parties of sorcerers, and village militia. You keep thinking about the battle of the Eagle and the Lion, when you had all played at fighting each other and laughed about the possibility that it could ever come to pass. Edelgard had known then, known what she was going to do. All this year, you’d been waiting, biding your time and building your power, and she had already been capable of all this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You practice with the axe. It still feels clumsy in your hands, but Hilda, Raphael, and Caspar help you find your form and strengthen your swing. With Shamir, Leonie, Ignatz, Beradetta, and Ashe, you work out a schedule for who gets to use the archery butts when, so they never get too crowded. There are no empty hours, even late at night. You meet with Petra and Cyril at the wyvern stables, and though you can’t let your guard down around them, it’s nice to be around others who know what it is to be trapped here in a country at war that isn’t even your own. You feel safest there, as safe as you can feel anywhere at Garreg Mach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One person you don’t see much of is Lorenz. He’s either in the section of the stables reserved for horses or practicing magic with Lysithea and Dorothea. You know that casting spells from the back of a horse is supposed to be something that takes years to master, which stretches your imagination, considering that you, Cyril, and Petra all learned to shoot from the back of a wyvern within a few months. Marianne tells you that it has something to do with the animal’s lifeforce, but you’ve never really been one for magic. You only hope that whatever Lorenz is doing, he’ll be ready when the imperial army arrives. You know you’re only worrying about him because you can’t stand to worry about yourself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of you are ready when the gates are breached. Nobody can be ready for what comes next. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>After the frantic, miserable thing you call a tactical retreat, you spend the night in the woods just outside the walls of Garreg Mach village with Hilda, Caspar, and Marianne. The villagers have handed over most of their belongings to the soldiers in exchange for relative peace. Now, you have nothing to eat. You’ve never gone to bed hungry before and don’t know how to do it, so you offer to take first watch. You lean against your sleeping wyvern by your fire, staring up at the stars. They’re so far away, so removed from everything down here. Even something as terrible as this war means nothing to them. It makes you feel small, but the smallness is comforting, in its own way. It doesn’t matter to the stars that you’re spending tonight hungry in a winter clearing. It doesn’t matter to the stars that Adrestia declared war on the Church. You huddle close to the fire and think about how throughout history, all across the world, this is what it means to be a human. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You don’t know what time it is when you hear the sound of hoofbeats, and someone rides on horseback into the clearing, interrupting your reverie. You jump to your feet, still as twitchy as you are in battle. Your hand flies to your bow. “Who’s there?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Claude, is that you?” The voice belongs to Bernadetta, and you relax. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep, it’s me. Who’s that you have with you?” There’s another figure behind her, also mounted. It’s the wrong shape, though, to be just one person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m with Leonie, and we have Lorenz. Um, do you know any healing magic? It’s pretty, uh, bad.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leonie’s horse trots into the firelight and you see Lorenz slung around her back. He’s gone limp and one of his arms in a sling made from the same orange cloth as Leonie’s coat. You shouldn’t be surprised. This is war: people get injured and die. You just hadn’t thought it would happen to Lorenz.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have Marianne,” you say. Bernadetta dismounts. “She can help.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” says Leonie, as you and Bernadetta take Lorenz down. “We came under fire as we escaped down the mountain, and his horse got hit. We thought it was just a broken arm, but then he started throwing up. He passed out about half an hour ago. Honestly, we’re lucky to be alive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The commotion has woken Caspar. “Bernadetta!” he calls out, without regard for Marianne and Hilda, who begin to stir. “I’m glad you’re safe. Have you seen Linhardt anywhere?” He stands. “Anything I can do to help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bernadetta shakes her head. “I’m sorry. He was with Ingrid and Petra’s squad I think? And um, maybe try spreading something out for us to put Lorenz on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caspar offers his bedding and you and Bernadetta lay Lorenz down. His arm has slid out of its sling and is bent in places an arm shouldn’t bend. He’s breathing shallowly, and you can smell stomach acid. You remember Remire, his surprising kindness when you slipped up and showed weakness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” It’s Hilda; she and Marianne have gotten up and are gathering with the rest of you. “Is that Lorenz?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s hurt,” you say. “Marianne, is there anything you can do?” You steel yourself for her answer. There’s a limit on how long after an injury happens a healing spell can be effective. You hope you’re in time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think so.” Marianne kneels down on the ground. She rests her hands first on the break in his arm, and murmurs a prayer. A soft golden glow lights up the campsite, and Marianne’s face screws up with concentration. You feel so useless. You’ve never understood healing. The glow fades as Lorenz’s arm rights itself, and Marianne looks up at all of you crowded around her. “Um, would you go away… I can do this, but it’s harder with people watching,” she says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure thing,” you say, and walk with the others back over to where the wyverns and the horses are tied by the fire. You keep looking over at Bernadetta and Caspar, who had known Edelgard far better than you, and yet she had still been willing to risk their lives by marching against Garreg Mach. You think of Lorenz, thrown from his horse, and wonder if you would ever be willing to bring an army against him. Troublesome as he might be, you hope it never comes to that. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You return to Derdriu and to your ailing grandfather. His health had held steady since the roundtable conference where you first had to fill in for him, but the news of Edelgard’s war sent him into a decline. It pains you to see him like this, confined to a bed, racked with tremors and barely able to speak. He was so kind to you when you first arrived, accepting you almost immediately as his grandson and heir. You spend days sitting in his office, fielding petitioners, taking over his correspondence, reading legal documents. So when the end comes, in the autumn of 1181, you are well prepared for what the next four years will demand of you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Privately, you count your grandfather among the victims of the war. Who knows how much longer the old man would have hung on if it weren’t for Edelgard?</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span>You thought Garreg Mach was exhausting, but at least there, you had time for relaxing conversation over meals, strolls around the monastery grounds, morning meditation, visiting the wyverns, and writing to your family. Here in Derdriu, your workday begins before dawn, reviewing the letters that arrived during your two or three hours of sleep. Roundtable Conferences were once a seasonal occurrence, but since the war began, they’re being held twice a month. You are swamped with petitioners and envoys from the other Alliance nobles. You never get a meal to yourself, there is always someone here to see you about something of catastrophic importance. You are keenly aware that any careless word on your part could upset the delicate balance you maintain. One mistake and you, along with the nearly a million inhabitants of the Leicester Alliance, hurtle unprepared into the abyss of war. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Houses Ordelia and Gloucester want to acquiesce to the Empire and secede from Leicester. They’ve closed their borders to religious refugees and covertly trade supplies to the Adrestian army. House Acheron is openly providing quarter to Imperial troops. If you didn’t have House Goneril on your side, with its superior military might, they very likely would abandon the Alliance, prompting a full scale invasion by the Adrestian Empire. You have to lean hard on Holst Goneril to keep the pressure on them, because he’s always so damned paranoid about Almyra. Additionally, if you actually ever use military force against the Empire-allied Houses, the Imperial forces themselves might take a break from pillaging the Kingdom and turn on the Alliance. Also on your side is Margrave Edmund, whom you’re glad to have, but something about the way he talks about Edelgard gives you pause. If she is, as he refers to her, an “upstart schoolgirl,” then what does he think of you? Does he really want what’s best for the Alliance or is he simply hedging his bets? Piracy and banditry have increased within the Alliance, likely due to food shortages from the war and decreased trade with the moribund Kingdom. Riegan and Edmund need naval aid from Albrecht, but if Albrecht sends soldiers to any of the territories allied against Gloucester, Ordelia, and Acheron, there’s a risk that the pro Empire faction will launch a retaliatory invasion of Daphnel territory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no winning move, no way for you to break the deadlock, at least not alone. All you can do is drag everything out, giving the Alliance as many years as you can of not being invaded. Nearly one million lives, and three hundred years of history hang heavy on your shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never once during these five years do you see Lorenz. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It was a promise made in another time, another world. There was no war, and you were only a child. And yet it might be your last chance. You can’t do nothing. You can’t keep going like this. You have to try. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before you leave, you send a letter home, your first in many months. “Please, send Nader. I have a plan, but I need his strength.” You aren’t lying. You do have a plan. You also have a hope and a hunch that you’ll find what you need at the ruins of Garreg Mach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, your hunch is correct. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You have Byleth and the Knights of Seiros on your side. You have Nader, Nader the Undefeated, the man who had trained you as a child. You have your classmates back together again: Hilda, and Lysithea, and Ignatz, and Raphael, and Leonie, and even Lorenz, whom you were certain would have been forbidden from coming by his father. You have others too, former Garreg Mach students who heard of the professor’s return and came running. You have Judith’s promise of aid. You are no longer alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you finally manage to repel the squad of Imperial soldiers who came to take back Garreg Mach, you feel as if you can finally breathe again. You’re stronger now. You won’t fall again. Finally, you can feel the coming of dawn.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>At Aillel, you kill Ashe. Well, it isn’t you who does it; it’s Raphael, but it was on behalf of your army. Raphael comes to you later, gaze cast downward, to tell you what he’s done. “It doesn’t feel right, killing old classmates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You remember what feels like a lifetime ago, when you and Ashe and other students who specialized in the bow drew up a schedule to share the practice butts at Garreg Mach. Back then, the world was falling down around you, and you were both afraid of what was coming, afraid to die. You’re still afraid, you’re terrified, but the world has already fallen and Ashe’s fear of death has been realized. You wonder what sort of a life he would have come to lead in the world as you are rebuilding it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to be killing a lot more classmates,” you tell Raphael. “Each life we take, each life we sacrifice: all of them were people just like us. Still, I can’t get used to it either. I think the best way to honor them is to fight with all our might. That way they won’t have died in vain.” You do your best to believe what you’re telling him. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Lorenz objects to your plan. “Can we really do this without battling my father?” he asks you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You want to avoid intra-Alliance bloodshed just as much as he does. That’s why you’ve made the arrangements you have with Judith and Nader. “Pretty soon, Count Gloucester will have to gather his troops in the northern part of his territory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judith jumps in. “The combined forces of the Riegan and Daphnel houses will threaten the northern part of the Gloucester Territory. Nardel, that retainer I mentioned, is going to draw their attention.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You continue. “We’ll take that opportunity to make our way through Gloucester territory and launch a surprise attack on the Great Bridge of Myrddin.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And are you not concerned about the possibility that I may tip off my father?” asks Lorenz. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You aren’t. Lorenz is too smart for that, too concerned for the Alliance as a whole. He may be a snob, but he isn’t petty. “The future of the Alliance rests on this battle. I’m certain you won’t betray us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmph, I will ensure our success,” Lorenz says, looking away. By his face, you can tell that he doubts what he’s saying. He’s weighing his fear of his father against his loyalty to you and the Alliance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smile at him. “I know you will.” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Your faith was not misplaced. The stones of the Myrddin Bridge are awash with blood, but the feet that stand on them now are those of Alliance soldiers. You march on, towards Gronder.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Now that you have Judith, the professor, and Nader, you have a little more time to yourself. You meditate in the mornings and write letters home again. You take walks on the grounds and in the forest. You write, not just to request supplies or aid, but because words are beautiful. You still wake before dawn and go to sleep well past midnight, but there is just enough time in the day for you to live too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One evening, you are taking a stroll around the monastery grounds after dinner, and thinking through a poem you want to write. You begin to recite lines to yourself as you walk, “The earth nurtures the trees, and the trees bear fruit… It’s the earth itself that gives us all life… Oh Fódlan! Land of plenty! Bless us with the gift of delicious food!” No, that isn’t quite the right meter. Oh well. You’re still an amateur at this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You spin around, startled. “Oh... it’s just you, Lorenz.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was disturbed by your ridiculous blather. Must you recite it quite so loudly? And can you even call that nonsense poetry, when it is utterly ignorant of rhyme and meter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You chuckle. “Ouch! You don’t hold back, do you? I didn’t know you were so particular about poetry. Ha! Maybe you have a secret poetry collection of your own hidden somewhere!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’ve struck gold. “That’s absurd! Where did you hear that?!” Lorenz regains his composure. “And just what was that poem about? It seemed to me that you were praising the land, but is it not the Goddess who nurtures the land? Should your praise not go to her instead?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you zero in on that detail. You really are a Fódlan noble through and through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Certainly.” He pauses. “Aren’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five years ago, you would have lied. You would have dodged the question. Back then, the wrong answer would have gotten you killed. But things are different now. Now you hold the power. Lorenz is your loyal general. He has fought and sacrificed for the Alliance, on your orders. You are working towards a common goal, a common vision of the future of Fódlan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, you answer carefully. “I’m not quite the same, no. Though noble blood flows within me, it can’t change who I am at heart.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pardon? I think you had best clarify,” Lorenz asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You didn’t expect him to let you off the hook easily, but it was worth a shot anyway. You look him up and down. He’s clever, brave, ambitious, and always serious. He’s somebody you can rely on, somebody that you hope fervently survives this war. “Listen, Lorenz. You had ambitions of becoming the Alliance’s ruler, didn’t you? Would you like to try that for real? If you really want it, I wouldn’t mind giving up my position.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorenz looks taken aback. “What’s this all of a sudden!? That is not an offer to be made in jest!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smile at him. “I’m not joking around. I’ve been thinking it for a while now. I originally thought you were like a fox drawn in by the deer of the Alliance. But I was wrong. You’re no thoughtless predator. You’re trying to properly train the deer around you, isn’t that right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorenz nods uncertainly. “That is my intention, but the ambition is insufficient. To rule well, a certain temperament is required.” He pauses. “When we first met, I mistrusted you a great deal. And on my father’s advice, I observed you closely. That is why I can say this for certain: you possess the qualities necessary to govern.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A compliment, from you?” Now it’s your turn to be taken aback. “That’s about as rare as a deer standing on its hind legs and doing a jig.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merely a statement of fact,” says Lorenz. “One that is quite relevant to the future of the Alliance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The future of the Alliance, eh? You really are devoted to your cause.” You knew that and you value him for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorenz smiles. “Depending on your actions, I may yet see fit to seize your position for myself. Bear that in mind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is how you open up to people. A little bit at a time, hints at future plans, pretending you’re making it all up as you go. “Heh, I welcome the idea. It means I can feel safe vanishing whenever I see fit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vanishing?” Lorenz asks. “Do not tell me you intend to die in this conflict! You cannot shape the future if you do not live to see it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You try to keep things light. “Ha! First you compliment me, and now you’re worrying about me? What have you done with the real Lorenz?! No, I’m not going to die. I’m tougher than I look. Besides…this war isn’t just for the Alliance anymore. It’s going to decide the fate of Fódlan. It would be cruel to leave you with the burden of uniting Fódlan all by yourself, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorenz laughs. “Burden, please! If there were none other suitable, I would gladly become a king. Or even an emperor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well well,” you chuckle. “I guess I shouldn’t take Lorenz of the famous house Gloucester so lightly!” Internally, though, you are glad to hear it. “Really though, don’t go dying on me either, Lorenz. We’re going to need men like you in the age to come.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorenz nods. “The same to you, Claude. A world without you would be ever so dull.” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Some people lose themselves in battle, becoming no more than the weapons they wield. They shut off their higher consciousness and turn beings of pure instinct, killing and escaping death on intuition alone. With all due respect, that’s never been you. You fight the same way you’ve lived your entire life, constantly observing, scoping out every eventuality, looking for opportunities to shape the field. You are aware of each life you take and of each strike of an enemy sword that comes a little too close for your liking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the mists of Gronder Field, you recognize the faces of some of the soldiers set against you. After all, you fought them in this very place, just over five years prior. Former Blue Lions are among the Kingdom’s final, gasping resistance, and most of the Black Eagles returned to fight for the Empire. Your strategy now is a cruel echo of what it once was, and yet again, you find yourself facing Bernadetta on Gronder’s central hill. You want to ask her why, why she went back, what promise Edelgard’s future held for her, but instead you simply have to kill her. You have to, or else she will kill you. You have no choice, you keep telling yourself. “I’m sorry, but I must.” And now the hill is aflame and you are only alive because of your wyvern, and you think about how your body and Bernadetta’s burning corpse are the same kind of machine, and you remember how she once helped you carry Lorenz’s unconscious body (the same body that can now cast spells from the back of a horse), and everything you are is dependent upon the proper functioning of the body, and the fate of Fódlan rests upon which bodies are broken on which fields of battle and which bodies survive. And you are so, so grateful to be alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be easier to fight without thinking. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You’d thought that bringing Nader to the front and allowing him to cast off his false name was enough, but Lorenz stands up at one of your generals’ meetings to voice his confusion. “Claude,” he says, “it is time for you to explain. Why are you so close with an Almyran general?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nearly laugh in his face. “Well,” you answer, “he did quite a bit for me when I was younger.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorenz still doesn’t understand. “When you were younger? So before you joined House Riegan. How and where did you meet him? There aren’t many opportunities to meet a general from Almyra in Fódlan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really can’t comprehend that you met him in Almyra. It’s a shame that Fódlan has done this to him, closed off his mind to even considering the existence of a world outside of the one he knows. But then again, this is the perfect opportunity to make your goals clear. “If that’s what you believe, it’s only what you have been led to believe. After all, we have Cyril here among our allies, and he was born in Almyra.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cyril makes a noise of annoyance. “Hey now, don’t drag </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> into this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You wink at him. Cyril, at least, must have realized by now. “There’s a big wide world outside Fódlan, and it’s overflowing with different places and cultures. You think interacting with outsiders is odd, but isn’t avoiding contact with the outside world far more unnatural?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t change the subject, Claude,” Lorenz sighs. “To the people of the Alliance, the Almyrans are--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You know, you know, you know! You know exactly what the people of the Alliance think of Almyrans, but you also know what Lorenz thinks of you. You hate Fódlan in that moment, for the way it’s constrained his imagination, for the wedge it’s driven between you and the man who should have been one of your closest allies. For the way he fails to see you. That deep rot and wrongness you’ve always sensed here has its hold in Lorenz, and it makes you want to scream at him and wake him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You stop Lorenz before he can subject you to another word of it. “It’s true there’s a history of hostility, but why should that mean we’re doomed to remain hostile forever? The Almyran’s aren’t monsters.” He knows you aren’t a monster, he says he dedicated months to observing you! So why can’t he see you for who you are? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You don’t have the luxury of wondering what on earth you’re fighting for. It isn’t that you don’t want to lose sight of your goals, but that you can’t. You see them in the faces of everyone you meet; they won’t let you rest. The reason you fight, the reason you claw and bite and struggle, is everywhere you turn. This world is crying out for you to change it.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>After two days of bloody, merciless battle in the streets of Enbarr and the imperial palace, you hold this wretched country in your hands. You stand at the top of the stairs in front of Edelgard’s throne and look down and see the world as she saw it, and it doesn’t give you any new insight into what she wanted for Fódlan, or what her future meant. There’s so much left you don’t understand. There’s so much left for you to do. Exhaustion has settled deep into your bones, but you can’t stop now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Answers trickle forward over the next week. A letter is found, with a map of Fódlan and a map of the palace, telling you where to go next. Rhea’s cell is discovered, and you feel a stab of dread along with pity at the sight of her. You don’t trust her. It was under her auspices that Fódlan became what it is. But you need her to make sense of everything you’ve seen over the last five years. What is it that Edelgard understood that you couldn’t? What are the Church’s true goals? What really happened to the professor? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You have more might than ever before. You are the man who unified Fódlan under the Crest of Flames. The Archbishop of the Church of Seiros is in your debt. You have toppled an emperor. All your competitors are either dead or standing beside you as allies. But this is not the apex of your power. You once dreamed of a weapon that would slice mountains in half, but with Failnaught in your hands, you know that you must instead scale the mountains before you yourself. You are twenty-three years old, and you are the most powerful man in Fódlan, and you are still only in the foothills. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The battles that follow seem to come from your nightmares and from the answers to your prayers. You are no longer fighting in Fódlan; you are fighting against Fódlan, against its darkness and the long hidden secrets of its history. You know the truth now, and with that, you push forward, cleansing the festering wounds that still lurk beneath the surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You face Riegan on the Caledonian Plateau. You can feel him within your veins, healing you, keeping you alive against all reason. You call out to him, to try to eke out more information, but he doesn’t answer. He is no longer a man, but a symbol: of Fódlan’s worship of violence and bloodshed, the theft, killing, and cruelty that underpin everything about this filthy land. It is exhilarating to fight Nemesis and the Ten Elites, alongside the descendents of Goneril and Gloucester, and the bearer of the Crest of Flames. This is you, repudiating the past and ushering in a new dawn. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Don’t go.” It’s Lorenz. He’s wearing the same clothing he had on last night, at your goodbye feast, with a coat thrown over for warmth. His hair is combed perfectly into place, but his eyes are ringed with dark circles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were going to leave at first light. You have a long journey ahead of you, and you want to be at Fódlan’s locket by nightfall. You sigh, and dismount from Sefid, your wyvern, and face Lorenz. “I must. The world outside of Fódlan is huge, and it needs changing too. There’s so much more that I need to do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You feel no sense of duty to Fódlan, then?” Lorenz asks. “You’ve replaced the Archbishop, unified the territories, and dissolved the Roundtable, and now you’re leaving us to sort through the aftermath. Fódlan needs you. You’ve saved its people twice, from Edelgard and from Nemesis. You have all the necessary traits to govern. You’re loved and respected by the common people and the nobles alike. Without you, everything we’ve fought for will be in vain. Stay. Please, stay.” He is pleading with you with desperation in his eyes. It stings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You understand why Lorenz is asking this of you. You agree with him that Fódlan needs a leader, someone to fill the power vacuum you’ve left behind. The new Archbishop is a powerful symbol, but it also needs someone experienced in matters of government. Someone with the skill and talent necessary to keep it all from descending into war and tyranny again. But you also know that you aren’t the only man in Fódlan who could fill such a role. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lorenz, do you remember what I said to you after you caught me reciting poetry?” you ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said that you felt safe disappearing. Back then, I thought you meant you expected to die in battle, but this is simply disgraceful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said that I felt safe disappearing because I met you,” you remind him. “I know you are someone qualified to lead and strengthen those around you, someone worthy to rule the Alliance in my stead,” you clarify. “I am leaving Fódlan in your capable hands. We both have long lives ahead of us, and a lot of work to do. You’ll achieve great things here, I know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorenz shakes his head. “Stay with me, Claude. I’ll support you as you rule, and together we can bring all of Fódlan into a glorious new age.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t be alone,” you promise. “You have many allies in Fódlan. Teach, Hilda, Marianne, Raphael, Ignatz, Leonie, Lysithea, and the others: they’re all on your side. You’ll still have me too. Even from far away, I’ll continue to support your progress, Fódlan’s progress, and do what I can to make your road more certain.” You think for a moment before adding, “Besides, I’ll come back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re coming back?” says Lorenz, shocked. “You didn’t say anything about that!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorenz, at least, deserves to know the truth. He was shaped by the Alliance and his father and you by Almyra and a world divided, but in your hearts, you are the same. “Not for years and years. Not until I’ve achieved my goals. But we will meet again.” You put your foot in Sefid’s stirrup, and begin to hoist yourself up. “So be ready for me, Lorenz. Don’t let the ones we’ve lost have died in vain. When I come back, I want to return to a new country.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dawn has broken across the eastern sky, the color of mother of pearl. It’s time for you to go. You take one last look down at Lorenz from Sefid’s back, and see him, bundled in a violet tailcoat and riding boots against the early morning chill, the wind tugging at his hair. His cheeks are pink with cold, and you can tell by his face he doesn’t quite believe in himself but you believe in you both. “Goodbye, Lorenz. Until we meet again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Claude.” He bows slightly, the same stiff half-bow you remember from your academy days. It fills you with tenderness towards the boys you were then, so deeply focussed on the men you were becoming that you could barely see what was right in front of you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sefid takes flight, launching himself into the air, taking you with him. The wind stings your face and your pack thumps against your back as the ground recedes beneath you. Suddenly, Lorenz is shouting something, chasing your shadow. You start, and despite the wind, you can make out the words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t allow what you’ve done to go to waste! I’ll exceed your expectations!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You want to call back to him but when you open your mouth, it fills with air. Your eyes sting as the sun breaks over the mountains and shines, bright and glorious, above Fódlan, Almyra, and the world.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Well, Khalid, my son, it seems you have done well for yourself.” You father beams at you with pride. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I unified Fódlan, and brought their Church under new leadership, which is much more amenable to peace and opening the borders.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Unified!’ What a nice way of saying conquered!” He laughs. “And then you just handed it all over without a fight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never intended to rule Fódlan,” you explain. “I only wanted to change it into a country we could make peace with. Besides, if I took power, I would eventually become hated and seen as just another tyrant. So I left power with the Church and the local leadership.” You had another reason for not staying in Fódlan, a reason you don’t have to state. Your father knows the kind of power you want. Your brothers want it too, of course, but if you can persuade your him…  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve learnt well from our own history. Make allies and delegate! Well, it seems we have a new ally in Fódlan, thanks to you. I heard you even introduced Nader to that Goneril general? Only you would have thought to do something like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smile, proud to have earned your father’s praise. “Yes. And I got quite close to the younger Goneril as well and won the support of the Alliance’s nobility. I believe that with these personal connections, the conditions for peace will be much easier to achieve.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, there go my plans of annexing that place,” your father jokes. He never truly intended conquest, any more than you did. “You know, I had given up on peace with Fódlan before you left. I thought your plans were doomed from the start.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That meant he had once had hope. He had once believed that Almyra and Fódlan could make peace. You and he had shared the same dream, and you hadn’t even known. As much as Fódlan would like to deny it, you are your father’s son.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Under your rule, Almyra prospers. You inherited a mighty kingdom, and your policies of open borders and free passage of people, goods, and ideas only strengthen it. You are accustomed to hard work and leadership from your Alliance days. Managing a kingdom the size of Almyra would be impossible for you to do alone, but you are more comfortable with collaboration now, and so you surround yourself with advisors from faraway lands and all strata of society. You welcome scholars, artisans, mages, tradespeople, and common travelers from all over the world. With the funds freed up from the end of the war with Fódlan, you build schools and universities, open to people from any country, any social class. You are not an arrogant man, but you have the self assurance to know that your father chose his successor well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through it all, you wait for Fódlan to uphold its end of the deal. Peace between your nations was achieved during your father’s day, but their governments are still focussed inwards, repairing the damage from the war. You wonder sometimes if your actions in Fódlan changed anything at all: If a boy like you arrived in Derdriu now, would he too have to assume a false name to survive? But you have little time to wonder. You have a country to run. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Your beard is streaked with gray, and the lines on your forehead and around your mouth have become permanent by the next time you hear from him. The sovereign count of the New Alliance of Eastern Fódlan writes in the hopes of negotiating a deal between the Fódlan mint and the Almyran treasury. He wants to standardize rates of conversion, so that merchants on both sides of the border can get fairer deals. He also wishes to open pathways of diplomacy between Almyra and the New Alliance, so that any conflicts that may arise from increased interaction between the two nations are resolved peacefully. This missive is one of more than a dozen that your prime minister brings to you that morning, but something about it catches your eye. Perhaps it is the term “sovereign count.” Didn’t you used to be a “sovereign duke?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You write the man a letter, careful not to let any assumptions about his identity (or hints as to your own) show through. You are glad to finally hear from your neighbor to the west. You are quite amenable to standardizing conversion rates, as you already have done with Morfis and Brigid. You agree that it would be best if you could establish diplomatic relations, perhaps even embassies in each other’s capitals. To discuss this further, you wish to meet with him in person. While he certainly couldn’t abandon the New Alliance, you know that there is an old fort located right on the border, deep in the mountains. You believe it would be an excellent symbolic gesture to meet at what was once the site of fierce battles between your countries but is now simply a historical and architectural site. You have an old contact there as well, someone who could help to arrange the summit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rereading your letter, you smile to yourself and hope the reference to architecture isn’t too much of a giveaway. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When you see him again, decades after you first met, it is once more from above him on a flight of stairs. You had planned with Hilda to arrive a day in advance, to tour the old fort, but all you could think of seeing the spacious and charmingly rustic rooms of Fódlan’s locket is Cyril. She passes off the readying of the meeting room to an (adult) servant, and you wonder if you’ve made the right decision in choosing the location. Perhaps you should have invited the sovereign count to see Almyra instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, you and Hilda go together to the fortress’s front gate shortly before noon, when the sovereign count is to arrive. Your suspicions have been confirmed by Hilda, who’s beaming at what she calls “a little class reunion.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Certainly better than the last reunion,” you quip back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then a carriage pulls up to the driveway below, led by four horses, of a far more delicate build than the ones you saw during the war, and a footman opens the door. You stand at the top of the stairs, King Khalid of Almyra, beside the duchess Goneril, and look down as count Gloucester, the sovereign count of the New Alliance of Eastern Fódlan steps from his carriage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hair too has grayed, and his face is newly lined, but his voice, as he cries out in joyful surprise at the sight of you, is the same. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! I hope I did the characters justice.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>